


Red Flags

by blujaes



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Hopeful......?????, I can't tag properly help, M/M, Suicide, triggering?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujaes/pseuds/blujaes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the red flags had risen in alarm, but Junhong had remained carelessly ignorant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Flags

Bang Yongguk was the strongest person I’d ever known.

Ever since the day he’d come into my life, he’d never once hesitated to step up for me in the greatest times of need. Not even the big ol’ bullies that liked to shove me around – the very ones that not even the teachers wanted to mess with – scared him. Nothing scared him; and that’s what I liked about him the most.

And I suppose I should have seen how everything started going downhill once those thick lips of his stopped curling up to that gummy smile I’d learned to fall in love with.

I should have known the moment Yongguk decided to take up using sleeping pills to go to bed at nights.

As his roommate and best friend, I should have known something was up the minute he took up those blades as a source of comfort.

_“Do you think anyone would care? If I die I mean.”_

I’d seen all the signs, but I hadn’t done a single thing. Did that make me a murder?

He’d had these symptoms for the past several years, and yet, I’d only ever thought that he was goofing off, pulling my leg. After all, Bang Yongguk had been the strongest person I’d ever seen. Nothing scared him.

Nothing but death.

_“If we die, what do you think’ll happen to us?”_

I never did have the answer to his question. I didn’t know. I wasn’t an avid follower of the bible, so it’d never occurred to me once that maybe heaven – if it even really existed – waited for us once we took in our last breath. But to be honest, when I died, I wanted to stay dead, no more thinking.

And Yongguk shared the same thoughts as me. It was that, or he honestly didn’t care. It would have been too much trouble to convince me otherwise anyways. Yongguk knew just how stubborn I was.

Throughout the whole several years we’d known each other, Yongguk began to trust me enough to confide his secrets in me, just as I’d come to do mine in him. The once childish giggles and jokes about girls – and boys, as once our relationship grew deeper, we’d found out that we both had no particular preference on gender – became laced with a darker tone, leading to conversations that required more thought.  Suddenly, there was just so much more to life than that playboy magazine I knew Yongguk hid under his bed for when I fell asleep.

_“Sometimes, I just want to die.”_

I remember staring at him blankly, a shocked expression crossing my face. You would have never guessed Yongguk to be the one to think about death. He had everything set in front of him. Everyone loved Yongguk.

I guess that’s why I had only just taken it as a joke.

It’d never once crossed my mind that even he, even Bang Yongguk, could want to bring a cold stop to his life.

He is, and always will be, after all, the strongest person I knew and will know.

I’d sat there and watched Yongguk go from the strong man he was, to nothing but an empty shell of what he used to be. He’d lost that certain glow to his eyes, and before I knew, there grew several red, ugly lines running up the length of his once smooth arms.

Then one day, I remember returning home from a short lived visit to my parents’ home to find him red eyed and sobbing. He had broken down to a shriveling mess of that strong figure who’d once protected me in high school. His shoulders shook with each quivering breath he sucked in, and all I could do was stand and stare with my jaws a little unhinged.

Yongguk had always been the stronger one out of the two of us.

_“Junhong, would you miss me if I died?”_

All the red flags were raised in alarm, but I’d remained blind to the dying man in front of me.

So in a sense, it was me who’d killed him.

I was the murderer and he the victim.

After seeing my limp dorm mate dangling by a noose from our ceiling, nothing seemed quite right anymore.

For condolence, the university had given me a full score and a pat on the back, but not even getting the most impossible grades could bring up my mood anymore. I stopped paying attention during lectures. And before long, I’d come to the terms that none of it even mattered anymore. What did the future mean, when I was but just a disgusting murderer? I’d killed the strongest man alive; something told me that I didn’t deserve the life I led.

I stopped caring about everything in general. Food, entertainment, social life … none of that seemed particularly important anymore.

I didn’t deserve to be in university. I didn’t deserve all the love and smiles my friends threw at me in the hallways. I didn’t deserve the food and shelter that kept me alive and well.

_I wished I were dead._

 

It was near that period I’d met him.

Kim Himchan.

He was the new transfer student from some musical department across the city.

Little to say, he didn’t fit in. He was some musical nerd, while we were of the business and communication world. The bleached blond man was an outcast.

But that had never stopped him from doing what he did.

Every day, Kim Himchan would arrive on campus with his flamboyant outfit and his too showy blond hair, arms full of textbooks no one really read. Every day, he would smile for no odd reason.

I’d seen him around campus plenty enough times, but it wasn’t until psychology, his second semester, that we’d really met.

“ _Hi_ ,” he’d smiled, all too warily, as if expected me to spit a cruel remark his way like the others did, “ _I’m Himchan_.”

As much as I would have preferred to work alone, the third week into the lecture, we’d been paired up as partners, forced to research an all too stupid topic: _depression_.

I didn’t need to research it. I was a living, breathing example of it.

“Junhong, look at this.”

“What’s the point?” I sighed into my palm, groaning a little as I let Himchan dig a little too deep into our textbook. He cared a little too much about grades. What did it matter if we made good grades anyways?

Getting good grades wouldn’t cleanse my sins as a murderer.

It wouldn’t bring Yongguk back.

But Kim Himchan was stubborn. He never gave up.

Just like Yongguk.

Himchan wouldn’t let me fail psychology.

Each evening, after a far too long shower, I would find him standing outside my dorm room, arms full of books and a mouth ready to blab. And eventually, I gave up trying to shoo him out.

And eventually, he just moved in with me.

I don’t know how it happened, but one day, I found him sleeping in the bed across from mine, brows knitted together in queer concentration and cheeks pressed against the book he’d only been flipping through seconds ago. It reminded me of how Yongguk would look, conked out a few hours before class on finals week.

 

With Himchan in the room, it became harder to hide my new found habits.

I’d found pleasure in those blades that Yongguk left behind. They found a new owner in me, and helped me clear my thoughts of any hazy pains that would settle in my head. Each line left behind, leaking in a metallic red material that was meant to stay in my body, helped me forget, even if just for a moment, my sin of remaining blind and stupid to the flags that flashed clear in my face. It helped me forget my murder.

But finding relaxation and aid in these blades meant having to hide them. These ugly scars became another sin for me to hide away from everyone around me.

In the winter, it wasn’t as hard, but once summer rolled around, people started to notice. To be specific, _Himchan_ , started to notice.

Since the day he’d moved in, Himchan had made a habit of taking care of me. He’d nag at me, a finger wiggling my direction, in constant reminder to eat, sleep, take a dump, or whatever it was that was on his mind at the moment.

He cared for me genuinely.

And it only added to the guilt that I’d already piled up.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the only words I could choke up when Himchan found the uneven lines that scratched up my arm. They were the only things I could utter out in fear of disappointing him even more.

I should have told him that he was wasting his time with me.

I knew what he was going to do now. He was slowly to back off and run away. He was going to pretend he’d never seen those ragged lines crawling up my forearm and move on with life as it had always been. He needn’t have to worry about a bother like me.

After all, Himchan was pretty much a perfect human copy of the fucking God I didn’t believe in.

“It’s okay.” But that wasn’t what he’d done. Himchan didn’t cringe back from my sins like I’d expected him to do – like I’d watched my so-called friends do. “We can get better.” He’d kissed my scars gingerly, smiling up brightly at me as if I’d done something nice. “We can fix this.”

I hated him. I hated him with everything I had.

But at the same time, I couldn’t hate him. He was everything that I hadn’t been. Everything that Yongguk needed to still be here.

Himchan’s watch on me grew after that night. His eyes were always on me and over the days I grew to become used to his watchful glaze. He only meant to help me after all. Even if I didn’t really deserve it.

“You have to eat Junhong.”

He was chasing after me in our tiny dorm room with a spoonful of rice. I was running away and he was chasing after me, trying to get me to down yet another bowl of food.

“No!” I screeched at him, hissing a little at his childish need to feed me. I could eat well on my own, without him following me with a fucking spoon in hand. I wasn’t a child. I could, and would, eat when I was hungry. But right now, I wasn’t. I hadn’t been since a week past.

Himchan was being stupid. I hated him.

I went to bed that night crying. I tried to shove my face deep into my pillows so I wouldn’t stir my new – not so new – roommate. Himchan had a test coming up in one of his classes that he’d been studying for all day. He deserved a good night’s rest.

“Junhong?”

There was a dip in my bed, and warm arms crawled around my waist. I could feel someone’s breath and kiss against the bare skin of my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, but I can’t say that I didn’t like it. It felt nice.

“Junhong, are you crying?”

His voice was groggy, deeper than usual, as he whispered this in my ear. Even by just his voice, I could tell that I’d woken him. I was being a burden. I was no good to him.

Unable to summon up words that wouldn’t sound choked and mangled, I shook my head as best I could with it pressed to the pillow. I couldn’t trust my voice right now.

“Alright.”

I know Himchan didn’t buy my lie, but he let me pretend anyways. His lips pressed once more against the skin of my neck and his hold around me tightened just a little more. I could feel his heart actively beating against my back, and for whatever reason, it calmed me and my sobs.

Himchan’s hugs felt warm.

I loved it.

 

Himchan never lost his patience with me, even if I never showed any signs of improving.

Sometimes, he’d walk into our dorms and find me sitting on the toilet, lid down and cross-legged, with a blade dragging across the healing patch of skin on my thigh where he couldn’t see. I’d expect him to scream and yell at me to stop, but he never did. He’d only smile sadly and take the blade away.

“We’ll try again. We can start over again.”

He was too good for me.

And it took a while, a long while, but I began to improve. The scars that marked my arms and thighs began to fade to silvery lines that read of a past I used to lead. Himchan and I both graduated, much thanks to his constant motherly twats against my head. We still lived together in a tiny little apartment, where we shared a monthly pay. We barely managed, but things were still peachy.

That’s when the red flags of warning began shooting up again.

Himchan didn’t smile as much as he always did. He’d lost a lot of weight since he’d gotten that job at the office just an hour away from a small little apartment. I’d always thought it was because he was supporting the two of us – I was, much to Himchan’s nagging suggestion, going on to get a masters in marketing – nearly single handedly. But that wasn’t it.

The red flags were going off again.

Sometimes, Himchan would return home, footsteps heavy and a thick sigh hanging off his perfectly shaped lips. And, while I didn’t want to, I’d let him skip dinner and pass out on the couch without as much as a bother to take off his uncomfortable office attire.

Watching him like this made me work harder. I did my best to remain at the top of class, and with each essay I got back, I wouldn’t hesitate to bounce in front of Himchan, waving the paper marked with a red smiley in his face. It always made him smile, and that was enough for me.

I knew Himchan was toughing out work and his cruel, jerk of a boss for me.

He was putting up with his ass-hole of a boss, so that we could keep that old run down hut we called home.

He was being strong for me.

So when I found him, chugging down far too many bottles of soju to matter, I knew it was my turn to be strong for him.

The red flags were going up again, and this time, I wouldn’t ignore them like I had last time. Himchan was strong, but no one was that strong. Yongguk hadn’t been and surely, neither was Himchan.

Stomping into the dimly lit kitchen – one of the bulbs had gone off and the neither of us had had enough time to run to the store to buy a new one – I snatched the bottle from his hands, frowning slightly.

“Junhong.” His words were slurred and his breath stunk of alcohol. Every part of this mess made me want to shrink away and crawl into our bedroom. But I didn’t. I had to be strong. For the both of us.

“What are you doing?”

I moved the bottle away as he tried to reach for it, growling a little from the deep of his throat. He wanted his stupid bottle back, so that he could tip it up and drench himself in the stinging sensation.

He wanted to forget, just as I had in slashing away at my arms.

“Junhong, give it to me.”

Five bottles. There were five empty bottles of soju rolling around our once clean floor.

Himchan had never been such an amazing drinker. I knew all too well he was drunk out of his mind – enough to give him a blinding headache and a blacked film of memory in the morning. He’d gone well over his limit and clearly had no intention of stopping.

“Do you want to kill yourself?” I hissed back at him, pulling the bottle a little further out of his reach. I didn’t care what his answer was. I didn’t want him to die. Himchan may have been strong, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t anywhere as strong as Himchan nor Yongguk was and had been.

I couldn’t lose Himchan too.

There was struggle – of course there was struggle – and between the yells and shouts, we’d both crashed to the floor, bottles – both new and old – of soju lay cracked around us, trapping us in a glass mine field.

I’d managed to shove him to the tiled floor, straddling his hips and holding his arms just above his head.

_Stop it_.

I was crying, sobbing fat, ugly tears that landed sorrowfully on the flushed face of my once savior.

I needed to be strong for him, for the both of us, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

I was too scared of losing him.

 

In the morning, I left Himchan sleeping in our bed with a note, painkillers, and a glass of water sitting at our bedside table. I hated him for overdosing on soju last night, but I couldn’t bare imagine leaving him in pain alone. I wanted to be there to scold him when he woke up, but if he were awake, he would have wanted me to go to school. The scolding would have to wait until classes were dismissed.

Coming home, much later on, I found Himchan sitting on our couch, still in the shorts and t-shirt I’d clothed him in – after much struggle – the night before when he’d finally crashed.  Unlike his usual pompous stature, he sat curled, knees tucked over chin, in a sort of fetal position as the television droned on, ignored, in front of him.

He hadn’t even noticed me walking in.

Walking over, I plopped down next to him with a silent huff, crossing my arms and setting my lips to a firm line.

I loved him and needed him, but that didn’t make me any less mad.

“Junhong.”

His voice was soft, just a whisper of what it usually was. He was apologizing. In his own stupid way, through the sad, kicked puppy look he shot, Kim Himchan was apologizing for all the things he couldn’t remember.

“It’s alright.”

I sighed, shaking my head and losing my set cross of anger. I couldn’t stay mad at Himchan. Not Himchan.

“We can get better. We can fix this.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Reposting (half fixed) old fics I lik(ed).
> 
> I keep posting and deleting these (like they were on aff for a while before being moved to lj and then back to aff - before i deleted it all again) but hopefully, this'll be the final resting place. No more deleting, shhh.


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